


just the thought gives me the creeps

by Anonymous



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Dog adoption, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Grocery Shopping, M/M, Roommates, listen. i wrote this before nhl rans was a thing that appealed to me, nhl!holster, oh my god they were roommates, real hockey players are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 10:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11484804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Justin thinks he might be in love. It might be too late.or, an introduction to a new dog, a new love, and a new life.





	just the thought gives me the creeps

**Author's Note:**

> title from the thought gives me the creeps by hellogoodbye
> 
> this has been in my docs for like six months now. i have abt 10k more of it that i need to revise and maybe post someday!! anyway sorry i haven't posted anything in like half a year but i've been busy. so here's this nonsense, dumbasses who love each other, its only kinda slow burn and only four people talk in the whole fic. maggie the dog is the light of my life. Also! i've totally lost my ability to write author's notes!!
> 
> find me on tumblr @ ranholts or twitter @ junkeroni
> 
> (edit: 07/14/17 i have no clue why i had the f/m tag selected on this. anyway.)

Justin shuffles along the produce aisle, stifling a yawn as he drops a bag of carrots into his cart. The music playing through his left earbud fits surprisingly well with the Hall and Oates filtering out over the store speakers, interrupted occasionally by intercom announcements. Making his way past an endcap, he crouches to grab a tub of chocolate protein powder from a bottom shelf, settling it between all the produce and pasta in the cart. He grabs two boxes of Clif bars from the parallel shelf, chocolate brownie for Adam and coconut chocolate chip for himself because he has good taste, unlike some people. He glances down at the slightly crumpled list in his hand, written in alternately his own and Adam’s handwriting, the irresponsible purchase suggestions crossed out before he even left the apartment (because no, they do not need a gallon of sriracha, and he regrets ever even running errands to pick up groceries at that restaurant supply store for Bitty). Turning down another aisle, Justin pulls a sleeve of those frankly pretty nasty cookies and creme oreos into the cart, because Adam’s been having a rough week, and heads to the front of the store.

He makes idle conversation with the cashier as she bags his items, he can tell that she’s at least as tired as he is, especially being as it’s past 8PM and he’s still out (luckily, he doesn’t have to work retail at this hour). He steps out into the chilly breeze, pulling the hood of the fleece sweatshirt he’s wearing up and sliding his hands a bit farther into the sleeves, happy that Adam’s hoodies are just that much bigger than his own. It’s not even that he really feels cold, he’s stronger than that, and he wouldn’t admit it anyway as to not damage his Canadian pride, but the hoodie is comfortable as all hell and it smells like home (more accurately, it smells like Holster’s lotion and cologne and the twice monthly hair conditioning treatment he uses, but those are all things that he’s come to think of as home), so he appreciates it. He loads the trunk with groceries, then sends a text to Adam (Got groceries, will be home soon) before driving the short distance back to their apartment. 

They didn’t have it totally figured out by graduation, but they worked it out. It took them a month before they moved in together again, after staying with family for a while. They rented a single bedroom (cheaper rent) apartment just outside of New York, only a few blocks from the Islanders arena, and they tried to split the cost of rent evenly (even though Adam insisted on paying more like 60%, because of his “lack of fucked up student loans and fuckin’ NHL salary, dude”). It took them four days to actually get around to buying a bed of any sort, settling for the floor or couch for those nights, and after much discussion they settled on just getting a single queen sized bed. They had sort of gotten used to the closeness after three years in bunk beds, and they shared the bottom bunk most nights anyway for warmth and ‘ghost problems’. It just seemed wrong to split up, just like it had when it came to parting ways after graduation, and Adam couldn’t sprawl on a twin and he slept better when he was snuggling somebody anyway, so neither of them can complain. They had been, recently at least, discussing adopting a dog because sometimes Rans gets lonely when Adam’s away on roadies or when he doesn’t have anything to do for the day. They lived together, still, and shared a room and ate dinner together, and made each other breakfast and marathoned bad sitcoms like they used to at the Haus, and it was domestic as all hell, but it was comfortable and good.

Justin pulls into the parking garage, and feels thankful for his years of hockey and working out when he has to carry four full bags of groceries up the stairs to the working elevator, then taking that up to the seventh floor. He fumbles with his key, nudges the door open with his knee, kicks off his slides, flipping on the light with his elbow, dropping his keys on the coffee table and taking the groceries into the kitchen. He’s nearly through putting them away when he gets a text from Adam. Be home in a few, workout ran late :) the message reads, so he sends back a thumbs up emoji and returns to the groceries. Justin slides the last box of crackers into the cupboard and rolls up the bags, sticking them into the drawer by the sink, stretching and yawning. He grabs two of the pad thai bowls they got at costco from out of the freezer (“Because your classes go late a lot, and I’m not home from practice or P.R. bullshit or whatever early enough to make food, and I don’t want you worrying about making dinner. These take three minutes to cook, dude.”) and sticks them in the microwave, presses the button for three minutes, then settles down on the couch while he waits for them to reheat and for Adam to get home. He folds his legs and nestles his face into the arm of the couch, flips the TV on to ESPN, and dozes off watching an old Pens and Sharks game within minutes. 

He’s woken a few minutes later by the sound of the door clicking open, Adam hanging his jacket on one of the hooks and leaving his keys on the table by the door. He can’t be bothered to move from his incredibly comfortable position curled on the couch, falling back asleep after a minute of waiting for Adam to come sit down. 

Justin’s arm feels warm. He was already warm from the thick hoodie and the haze of his nap, but he felt extra heated in one particular spot as soon as he woke. Blinking a few times, he squints at his arm to see a bowl there, settled between the couch and his elbow-ish area. Looking farther, he sees Adam, smiling across the couch at him with his socked feet pressed lightly against and under Justin’s thigh. He looks extra cute like this. 

“Thanks, dude,” Adam says, looking mildly perplexed but his smile getting a bit wider, and Justin realizes he might have said that last part out loud. 

“Mmhmm.” Justin grumbles, making sure to move his bowl before uncurling from the arm of the couch. He takes a few bites of his food without talking, having forgotten just how hungry he was earlier. Once they’re both done (and Adam takes both their bowls to the sink, because of course he does, he’s amazing), Justin turns and presses his back against Adam’s chest. Adam loops his arms under his shoulders and around Rans’ waist, he hooks his chin over his shoulder and they both lay there for a moment, relaxing, able to decompress just by being this close to each other.

“How was your day?” he asks, tilting his head up to look at Adam, still sort of bleary-eyed and sleepy.

“Hmm, pretty good. Dumb press shit, as usual. The gym was packed, so I couldn’t get my full workout in, but it’s cool. McMillan finally got cleared to come back to practice, so we’ve got almost all of our second line back, ‘n hopefully he’ll be good to go forreal in the next game. How ‘bout you?” 

“It was good, I got you some ‘f those fancy-ass oreos,” Justin yawns, breaking up the sentence. “They’re in the cupboard in the hall. Even though they tooootally break your meal plan and the coaches are gonna kill you.”

“Dude, you didn’t have to do that,” Adam says, smiling and pressing what seems like a soft kiss to the crown of Justin’s head, but it could have been a slip or weirdly angled head bump or something else. “‘Preciate it though. I ration them, ‘n it’s not my fault that Bits still sends us pie and dessert sampler boxes like, every goddamn week, the kid’s like a baking machine and he’s gonna kill me.”

Justin nods, his hair brushing against Adam’s chin. “Embrace your fate, Holtzy. An early grave caused by excessive pie consumption. The tastiest way to die.”

“I’m resigned to death by pie,” Adam replies, rubbing his thumb in small arcs right above Justin’s waistband. “Dude, is there still any blueberry in the fridge? I wanna eat it tomorrow, don’t take it.”

“Noted. Oh, d’you want to stop by the shelter tomorrow since you’ve got the day off? They’re having a adoption drive,” Rans asks, looking as persuasively as possible up at Adam. “We could always just look, not necessarily adopt yet…”

“Dude, you know we can’t go to those without coming this close to adopting a dog. We can go, if you think that’s really responsible.” 

“As the brains of this operation, I can verify that would be a very responsible decision,” Justin replies, gently jabbing his elbow back and nudging Holts’ side when he looks mock-offended. “C’mon, you know I’m joking about that brains thing. You’re mad smart, dude.”

“Bro, did you make an excel sheet about this or anything?” Adam asks, and his breath is really sort of warm and distracting against the shell of Justin’s ear. 

“Hmmm, I know that saying yes would increase our chances of dog acquisition, but no I definitely did not. We should do it, though. Dude, I get lonely while you’re gone, I need a friend.” Rans pouts, sliding a few inches down in Holster’s arms.

“We’ve already got real good chances of dog acquisition bro, we just need to find, like… The One. The one dog to rule them all.” Adam replies, and Justin laughs.

“Dude, you’re such a fucking nerd, you’re like a powerful jock and nerd combo. You’re like, the whole package.” He says, accidentally including that last part and not really regretting it when Holster flushes slightly, because it’s not like he doesn’t mean it, his best friend is fucking amazing and he’s fine with admitting that. He stretches his legs from where he stays seated, still with his shoulder tucked under Adam’s chin. “I’m gonna head to bed, I think.”

“Hmm, I haven’t quite got the whole ‘beautiful genius’ thing you’ve got going, though. I’m feelin’ bed too, actually,” Adam replies, pulling his arms from around Justin’s waist and popping his shoulder. He pushes gently at Justin’s back, trying to get him to sit up despite his muffled noises of protest. “C’mon dude, work with me.” 

They both manage to stand after a bit of a struggle, and lean on each other a bit walking to their bedroom. Adam kicks off his work pants and swaps them out for sweatpants, pulling off his shirt and tossing it into the hamper that’s barely sticking out behind the sliding door of the closet. Justin had spent the entire day in comfortable clothes, so he forgoes the whole changing process to just lay down, curled on his side towards the middle of the bed. He blames exhaustion when he can’t really help but watch Adam, catching a glimpse of faded stretch marks on his legs, watching the muscle of his back. He rolls to the side of the bed when Adam switches off the light and trips over a laundry hamper on the way to bed, pulling off his glasses and leaving them on the bedside table like he does every night. He’s nearly asleep when Adam pulls the blanket over both of them and puts his arm around his waist, one hand broad and warm on his side and the other going to brush through his hair. Justin rolls over onto his other side, curling into Adam’s embrace and burying his face in his chest, which should maybe be weird being as he isn’t wearing a shirt if he was more awake and aware, but Adam is warm and smells like his overpriced body wash and something else so familiar that can’t be anything other than just him, and he falls asleep within minutes to the gentle beating of his heart and the whir of the heater in the other room.

Justin wakes up when his phone vibrates with his alarm, a faint buzzing against his thigh. He has to pull the blanket loose from around his waist to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone, nearly dropping it into the abyss of blankets surrounding his legs in the process. He double taps the off button in the alarm application, clicking the power button of his phone and sliding it back into his pocket. He leans over the bedside table to grab the glass of water he left there last night (and to move Adam’s glasses closer to the side by the bed, because he’d need those soon probably and they need to be accessible so he doesn’t go into a blind panic in both the literal and figurative sense), and Adam, still half asleep, grumbles something incomprehensible and grabs at his waist, trying to stop him from moving. Justin takes a sip of the water and places the glass back on the table, careful not to make too many more disruptive movements as he slides back down into the space left on the bed. 

Adam immediately pulls his other arm around Justin’s waist as soon as he laid back down, effectively dragging him in and throwing a leg over Justin’s legs, still snoring softly. Another eight minutes pass before Adam sneezes forcefully into his own shoulder, waking himself and blinking a few times in quick succession, propping himself up on his elbow and squinting at the small digital clock on the bedside table. Justin looks up at him and smiles at him as he rubs his eyes, grabs his glasses from the spot he moved them to earlier in the morning and passes them off to him. 

“G’morning, Holtzy,” Justin says, popping his neck no matter how much it bugs Adam, not bothering to try and disentangle himself from the jumble of limbs they were wrapped up in quite yet. “You should be glad I don’t work for any kind of media outlets, or I might accidentally let it slip that up and coming NHL defensive player Adam Birkholtz is the clingiest, most aggressive snuggler in the damn world.” 

“Fuck’s sake bro, no chirpin’ my sleep cuddling while I’m still nearly asleep,” Adam replies, flopping back face-down onto the bed and wrapping his arm over Justin’s chest. “You’ve got so much dirt on me, you’d be a hell of an inside scoop reporter on like, specifically me. And Jack, come to think of it, you lived with him for two years too, even though he didn’t snuggle you every night. Good thing you’re just gonna be the best damn doctor in all of New York instead of a sports gossip columnist.”

“Imagine the articles I’d have to write, dude. Tyler Seguin spotted shirtless on balcony of New York apartment on tuesday morning wearing sunglasses and shorts, debates as to what hijinks led up to this are currently running. His linemate and friend Jamie Benn, seen more appropriately dressed for the weather in the lobby of said apartment building with two large holiday Starbucks cups, refused to answer reporter questions as to the state of Seguin. The two presumably found their way back to Texas before the following morning, though their methods of transportation are as of yet unknown,” Rans says, and Holster laughs because that had been their fucking apartment, and he sort of somehow forgot about that. Tyler’s shirt was nowhere to be found, and no hijinks ensued the prior night to even lead up to him losing his shirt, they were just playing monopoly. A really, really heated game of monopoly, apparently. The story was in one or two local papers, though nobody believed that it was actually Tyler Seguin, and most of the media surrounding the event was fan speculation. 

“Kent Parson, Jack Zimmermann, dirty checks and the tragic 2011 draft season; We get the inside scoop from the captain of the Aces himself. ‘Have you seen this picture of my cat on Halloween? She’s such a diva, it’s ridiculous.’ Parson replies, to a question on if there was anything between them other than steadfast friendship and on-ice chemistry.” He continues.

“Breaking story in the world of professional hockey, Islanders rookie Adam Birkholtz with a slice of his personal life with the worst and dorkiest roommate ever. How does he manage to survive with such a handsome, smart, amazing person, who happens to spend his mornings snuggling him and coming up with fake news article topics?” 

“Oh, not cool, dude,” Justin yawns. “Forreal though, how do you even manage to be so flattering and complimentary when you’re half asleep, dude? It’s just not fair, I’m supposed to be the happy outgoing one that everyone loves in this friendship.” 

“You know I only like you, dude. I’m never this nice to anyone else, ‘n you’re just chirpy as hell in the mornings. Like, both in the bright bubbly way and the... chirp-chirp way.” Adam says, shifting over to rest his head in the crook of Justin’s neck.

“Pfft, whatever, dude. I’m gonna go make breakfast.” Justin laughs, patting Adam’s shoulder before shoving at him to try and push him off, which proves to be quite difficult when factoring in the six foot four, incredibly muscular professional hockey player aspect (and that’s still weird to think about, that his best friend in the whole damn world is a professional hockey player). He makes sure to take note that he’ll have to give him shit for saying ‘the chirp-chirp way’ in all delirious seriousness at some point in the near future. After quite a bit of shoving he manages to get Holster to roll over, a definite effort despite the fact that Holts is practically totally awake at this point, and he stretches and heads out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. 

Halfway through the process of making just enough scrambled eggs for both of them (which is a whole fucking lot of scrambled eggs; at least half a carton worth), Adam walks into the kitchen and hops up to sit on the counter, even at this level his feet still brushing the floor as he swings his legs. He reaches down the length of the counter and pulls a large mug out of the corner cabinet, pouring some of the day-old coffee from the pot into it and sticking it into the microwave, and it’s bitter with grounds in the bottom, but he rolls with it. He slides down to the ground from the counter and walks to grab the almond milk from the fridge, lightly bumping Justin’s hip with his own as he passes, pouring a good amount into his coffee. Justin finishes preparing the eggs and serves himself some into a tupperware, and Adam is terrible so he steals some right from his container before serving his own. 

“Recently drafted defensive player Adam Birkholtz with a brutal off-ice, in-kitchen hip bump, receives penalty for stealing my fucking eggs, setting back the team by eighteen points, because that’s how sports work,”

“Dude, good one. D’you still want to go down to the shelter today?” Adam asks between bites of scrambled eggs and toast, disregarding the callout of his food thievery and leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter and bumping his head against the cabinet a few times by accident. 

“Uh, yeah, if you’re up to it,” Justin replies, eating a bit more eggs before continuing. “If you want we should stop by the farmers market on our way down there, we’re nearly outta bread and they’ve got the good stuff there. Other than that I don’t have anything agenda-wise for today, not as far as I’m sure of right now. You have anything else to do?” 

“Nah, I’m free all day, and I fully support the acquisition of the good bread, so yeah farmers market definitely. Oh, shit, don’t forget about that lab report you’ve gotta finish before Tuesday, that one looked… Painful to say the least.” Adam says, then proceeds to stuff the rest of his scrambled eggs in his mouth in a way majorly semblant of his way with hard boiled eggs, because he’s a little bit disgusting sometimes. Loveable, but disgusting nonetheless.

“Oh yeah, I got that shit done yesterday at the library, dude. I’m on the fuckin’ ball. Still gotta get a second look at it and revise a few things, but otherwise I think I’m good to go.”

“Bro, I’m hella proud of you. Wanna watch bad movies when we get home instead then? I think Batman and Robin is on Amazon Prime, we can get nice bread and look at dogs and make fun of the cinematography in that ol’ classic,” Adam replies, washing the bowl and the few dishes there were left in the sink from the previous night. “Oooh, or Highlander 2, that one’s a masterpiece. Either way, if you’re down.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Sooo, farmers market for bread, animal shelter for dogspotting, then back home?” Justin asks, and Adam flashes him a thumbs up and a grin before heading back to their room to change into more presentable clothes than his current (to be fair, quite iconic) ensemble of Islanders sweatpants and a resounding lack of shirt. Justin follows after finishing his breakfast, grabbing jeans and a flannel shirt out of their shared dresser, pulling them on and searching for two at least semi-matching socks. He sits down on the bed to finish with socks while Adam finishes getting dressed, pulling on an athletic shirt that fits tight on his arms, shows a strip of skin low on his back above the band of his jeans when he stretches. It has that little Champion logo embroidered on the left side of the chest, and Justin knows how soft it is from the times he’s borrowed/stolen it. The marbled grey and blue fabric brings out Adam’s eyes in a frankly incredible way, and Justin considers telling him as much.

“You ready to roll out?” Adam asks, slipping his phone and wallet into his pocket, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, repeating the action more successfully when they slide back down after a moment. Justin checks that his phone and wallet are in his pocket and finishes lacing up his shoes, then nods at Adam and they leave the apartment, taking the elevator down to the parking garage, cramped in with three other people for the first few floors. Sliding into the driver's’ seat, Holts starts to hum a tune that sounds startlingly reminiscent of the original Gilmore Girls theme, and Rans grins at him.

“Dude, did you have a Gilmore Girls marathon without me?” He asks, folding up one of his legs and tucking it into the slot above the glove compartment. Adam nods sheepishly. “It’s chill, I’m not gonna mess with your pregame, bro. ‘S’cute, is all.”

“Aww, that’s sweet bro, thanks,” Holster replies, looking a tiny bit embarrassed but reaching across the center console and squeezing Rans’ hand once nonetheless. He flips his blinkers on and switches to another preset on the radio, Sweet Caroline is playing and Rans can’t bring himself to turn it off. They pull up to the little ticket kiosk and drive past when the gate opens, finding an empty parking spot while Holtzy sings along with Neil Diamond because he’s sort of terrible. 

Walking past the good local bread vendor’s stall, Adam stuffed a fresh ciabatta roll into his mouth without trying to split it up into pieces at all first. He passes the bag off to Justin, chewing as he walks toward a stand selling beard oil across the aisle. He chats with the guy manning the booth, who has an impressive beard and ‘stache combo that seems shiny and smooth, and they leave the market with three bags of bread and a small sample of a spicy smelling conditioning treatment (the conversation went somewhere along the lines of “yeah, I’ve gotta keep that shit soft later this season during the playoffs, right Rans?” “Oh, d’you play hockey?” from the salesman, and the casual reply of “Defense player for the Islanders, bro, got drafted two summers ago,” and the salesman’s eyes growing at least twice in size and promptly asking for an autograph for his sister). 

They make it to the animal shelter a little after noon, and there are few cars in the parking lot despite their apparent adoption drive. The building is well lit with a soft, welcoming atmosphere, brightly colored rooms with cats napping in them lining the halls. They walk through the halls toward the receptionist desk, and Adam wraps his arm around Justin’s shoulders, taking advantage of his seriously unfair two inch height advantage, his fingers brushing his upper arm as they walk. The receptionist has a shaved head and an eyebrow piercing, overall looking like she would hang out at one of Lardo’s art exhibitions, and she smiles up at them as they approach the desk.

“Hey! Do you do like, dog meetings?” Adam asks, not fully thinking through his words before he speaks. As per usual.

“By which he means a way to, like, meet and interact with dogs to see if they sort of.. Fit?” Justin fills in, nudging his shoulder against Adam’s gently. 

“Yeah, of course, could I get some of your specifications so we can find some good contenders?” The receptionist asks, tapping away at the keyboard of her computer. Her name badge says “Angela”, and has a tiny drawing of a cat on it. 

“Okay, uh, preferably someone with enough energy to go for runs, but also chill enough to cuddle with me when he’s out of town, and not likely to destroy our apartment? Also, probably a bigger dog, just because little dogs look extra tiny next to him and it’s just weird.” Rans replies, trying to remember specifics of what they ideally wanted out of a dog. 

“Alrighty, I can take you back to one of the trial rooms if you’d like, there are a few dogs we have right now that should work for you,” Angela says, and leads the two of them through the hallway to a room with a bench and a few dog toys scattered around. She leaves them there, and Adam’s leg is bouncing where he sits on the bench, so Justin places a hand on his knee in an attempt to steady him. She returns a few minutes later, walking a three legged, fluffy, smiley dog on a short leash and bringing her into the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Justin sees Adam’s face split into a grin, and he can’t help but smile either at the combination of dorky cute best friend and dorky cute dog. “This is Maggie, she’s been in the shelter system for a few months now, she’s a three year old mutt, our best guess is some kind of bull terrier and retriever mix, though we aren’t quite sure. She loves going for runs, but she’s also one of the most snuggly kids here, so I feel like she’d be a really good fit for you two.”

Maggie’s leash is unclipped and she walks hesitantly over to the bench where Adam and Justin sit, sniffing at both of their legs and slowly warming up to their presence. After a minute, she’s nuzzling at Adam’s hand, who’s staring lovingly down at her, and Justin is trying to stare adoringly at the dog and not exclusively at Adam (which is sort of a struggle, for whatever reason, but Adam’s right there like he always is with his floppy messy hair and his big stupid grin and his glasses are nearly falling off, and he’s making incredibly cute noises down at Maggie, and- oh.) Maggie is by no standards a small dog, but when Adam picks her up and takes her onto his lap, letting her sniff his face (and Justin’s, and her nose is very cold and very wet and unexpected), she looks like she could be a lapdog. She licks his nose and he makes a startled noise, but his smile is still damn near blinding. Justin smiles and shakes his head fondly, reaching out to scratch behind the dog’s ears, and she turns her head to lick his hand, and they’re both smiling even wider now.

“So, uh, how much are adoption fees?” Adam asks after a few minutes, looking to Angela, and Justin’s fairly sure she can’t help but smile either, Adam seems to have that effect on people when he’s in ‘literal six foot four puppy’ mode. It’s apparently emphasized when he’s with an actual dog, which makes for an all in all devastating combo right now for some people, Rans thinks, and sort of residually applies that to himself.

“With the event we’re running right now, adoption fees for a dog her size would be $75, but we do a discounted fee for any adopters of disabled or otherwise less adopted animals, so more like $50 after that. If you’re sure you don’t want to look at any more dogs, I can take you back up front and we can take care of some paperwork.” Angela replies, switching into a more all-business tone than she had used earlier. It reminds Justin of his sister’s waitress voice that she employs near exclusively when talking to middle aged and older customers at the cafe she works in, and he makes a mental note to text her a picture of Maggie once they take her home. And, holy shit, they’re taking Maggie home soon, after they fill out some paperwork, and that hasn’t totally sunk in yet. They’re adopting a dog and they’re going to spoil the hell out of her and take her for walks every day, and that’s ridiculously exciting. 

“I don’t think we can feasibly adopt two dogs today, so we probably shouldn’t meet any more... Holtz?” Justin answers, taking one of Maggie’s front paws between his fingers, feeling the softness of her fur there.

“Excel says,” Holster says under his breath with a bit of a chuckle, and Rans smiles at him, because he doesn’t think they’ve used that joke in the past month or so and he sort of missed it. “Yeah that’s not a good idea. We can do paperwork now.” 

“Alright, well, you can always come back,” Angela responds with a smile, standing and grabbing the weathered red leash from the ground, leading Adam and Justin back out into the lobby. Maggie trots happily along behind them, stopping briefly to sniff at the entrance to one of the cat rooms. They both sit on a couch across from the desk as Angela prints some papers for them to sign, grabbing a pen and clipboard and bringing them the papers. They fill out all the necessary forms, Maggie having fallen asleep curled on Adam’s feet, and Angela tries not to look too phased when Adam slips a fairly large amount of money into the donation jar on the way out. The three of them (and that’s really damn cool to think about having a third someone there again, even though it’s a big fluffy dog and not Lardo or somebody else from the ‘glory days’ of the old team) pile into the car, Adam taking the passenger seat with Maggie curled on his lap. They have to make a stop at the Target by the apartment to get dog supplies, because they sort of didn’t prepare at all for this, but it’s not too much of a change really. They buy food along with the brand that Angela had suggested, along with a bed (or three), treats, and a “metric fuckton, oops sorry ma’am” of toys. 

Back at the apartment, Maggie settles in nicely. They have pre-established norms of what she can and cannot do, without even barely having to talk about it for more than a few minutes and they agree on all of it (yes she is definitely allowed on the couch, yes she is allowed in the bedroom and most likely on the bed, minimal table scraps as long as it’s mostly salad-y stuff), they print a “Can Dogs Eat That?” chart to hang on the fridge, set the dog beds in various rooms of the house. The three of them lay down on the couch and switch on the TV to watch a movie, arranged essentially in the same position as they had been last night, except now with a very tired Maggie Birkholtz-Oluransi draping herself over both of their feet. The pace of Adam’s heartbeat slows, evening out into a steady thump that Justin can feel against his back. 

“Dude, we’re gonna be the best damn dog dads ever,” Justin says, keeping his voice low.

“Ch’yeah, bro.” Adam replies, his breath ghosting across Justin’s ear, soft and warm in a surprisingly pleasant way. He grabs the remote from where he left it on the arm of the couch and presses the power button, leaving them in relative darkness with only the corner lamp illuminating the room.

“Sw’awesome.” Justin says, and falls asleep, with the sound of quiet dog snoring and the soft beating of Adam’s heart to try and match his own to, letting his breath get even like he’s done so many times in the midst of a panic attack or general inability to sleep, and this is so, so much better.

He wakes in the morning to an ache in his back and Adam’s hand lightly resting on his stomach, right at his midriff where his shirt rode up during the night, and it sends a chill along his spine, leaves the hair at the base of his neck standing up. He rolls over onto his stomach, resting his face in the crook of Adam’s shoulder, his legs bracketing his hips and wrapping his arm around his waist while Adam’s returns to settle on his hip. He’s still wearing that exercise shirt he put on yesterday morning, and the fabric feels warm and soft under his cheek. He settles back into the rhythm of Adam’s heart beating, rolling the fabric at the hem of his shirt between his fingers.

A few minutes later, along with more sun filtering in through the balcony window, Adam wakes up, yawning and blinking at Justin where he still lays with his face resting on his shoulder. Justin rests his chin on his chest and just sort of looks at him for a minute, taking in the details. Details that he somehow missed for the past five years, little things about him that he never really noticed or appreciated. The light smattering of freckles over his nose, the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners when he’s really smiling, the single dimple on his left cheek that shows up every once in awhile, the way his hair frizzes and curls in the mornings, the light shining over it making it look like some kind of fluffy halo.

Of course, there are things he’s noticed, too, because what kind of guy doesn’t even look at his best friend’s face once in awhile, but he hasn’t… Really noticed them. How his eyes look nearly grey or white depending on the lighting, depending on the angle. The curve of his jaw, the stubble that grows there after a few days without shaving, his glasses that combine with the stubble to make him look like a middle aged dad, and it’s sort of hot, and- oh. 

Okay.

That’s new, the thinking of Holster as ‘hot’ thing. Yeah, he knows his best friend is (and enough time with Shitty has told him to think of this as some sort of eurocentric bullshit) definitely attractive. He’s had his fair share of prospects romantically, maybe not as many as like, Nursey, who never actually seemed to follow through on any dates and they sorta haven’t heard from him in a few months which is sort of weird, but still enough. Ransom would have to be fucking blind to not see that his ridiculously built, handsome best friend looked really good most days. But he’d never really placed the term hot on it before now, and it works. Well, maybe not hot to look like a dad so much, because he looked a bit too much like the picture of Mr. Birkholtz that his mom kept on the mantle, but the possibility there was definitely appealing. Thinking of hot middle aged dad Holster accidentally set him off to thinking about Holster picking up a kid from school, and he quickly shuts down the part of him that says ‘their kid’, coaching his kid’s peewee team and going back to a little house in the suburbs. Justin briefly takes a moment to consider just how fucked he apparently is, enough to think about raising a fucking kid with his best friend is stepping like 18 feet too far. He tries to quell his thoughts, but it just doesn’t work and his mind just keeps going places.

Maybe that’s the main thing that he never noticed before, not really, in these five years of friendship. The one thing that he really hadn’t paid any attention to was this- feeling, this fluttering feeling deep inside his chest when Holts said something especially goofy, or when his smile got so broad and bright and when he made up silly songs about things that were happening, even when he sang Les Miserables in the shower while he was trying to study uninterrupted. When he walked around the apartment shirtless nearly all the time, dragged Justin closer to his side late at night or early enough in the morning that he was almost entirely asleep and not thinking about it, when he wears those damn athletic shirts that make his arms look like whoa. When he smiles and slings an arm over Justin’s shoulder while they’re walking, the fact that he’s one of the few people in Justin’s life (excluding med school friends, but they’re all nerds enough that they actually have their own opinions and contributions to his ramblings, so they don’t count) who will listen when he rambles about molecular biology while laying on the floor for an hour. The way that he still texts asking for updates on the ‘coral reef status’ if he’s out of town. How he sort of really wants to kiss him now.

Maybe he never noticed just how much his heart soars and everything lights up in screaming color whenever Adam smiles. Maybe he always thought his heart pounding when they tackle-hugged as a celly back at Samwell was just the exhilaration of the game, but maybe, just maybe there was something more there, an added layer to the rush. He thinks maybe he wants the jokes to be true, the wink wink nudge nudge culture of everyone assuming they’ve done everything. He thinks he definitely wants it to be true. 

He’s known he liked boys for most of his life. He likes girls too, and he can’t say he’s met or dated enough nonbinary people to say one way or another, but he’s open to most anyone as long as they’re his type appearance-wise (and thinking about his ‘type’ is sort of like being hit with a truck, because based on his vague dating history it’s literally Holster, and it probably has been for a while now), nice enough and have a good sense of humor. He went home from school in third grade and told his mama that he wanted to marry this kid named Keith in his home room class, and she laughed and smiled and told him that was okay, just that he was too young. He’s had a few boyfriends and a few girlfriends, most recently March back in senior year, dated one person who came out as agender a few months after they split up, and it was never a big deal. It still isn’t a big deal, and he knows Holster is more or less the same way, just not publically out for safety purposes, being a professional athlete in a super bigoted world and all that. But that possibility, however slight it may be, that Holster could like him back, could love him back and want to spend his life with him in a more than platonic sense, was gonna drive him up a fucking wall.

Justin thinks he definitely wants to kiss his best friend. And he thinks he might do it, in this moment where the morning is definitively too early for the presence of sound judgement, with Adam just laid out beneath him with his stupid fucking nineties boyband bangs still stuck to his forehead, and his fucking ridiculous arms (especially ridiculous biceps, comparable to the average size of an adult human’s head, at least when he’s flexing) holding him firmly in place (and that’s a whole other type of fun to think about, really), squinting at him because his glasses fell somewhere in the night and smiling just a little bit, and he smiles back.

Justin is fairly sure that he could wake up to this every morning for the rest of his life and be a-okay with that, and that’s a rush of emotions and thoughts to deal with, when he realizes they aren’t even dating. It’s all a lot to deal with. He realizes he could do something, technically, he could lean on him as he is now and tip his chin up just a fraction of an inch and kiss him, and that would be that and he thinks he’d be able to take it from there. But that would be a really bad idea probably, and really, there’s no way of knowing if Adam feels this way about him in return, whatever ‘this way’ even is.

Except. 

Except for the occasional lingering glance, a hug lasting a few seconds longer, a little bit tighter than could be considered the norm. A bit more sincerity than usual put into a compliment or an ‘I love you, bro’. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t think there’s ever been a ‘no homo’ uttered between them in their whole friendship, but maybe that’s just who they are. There’s the fact that at age 26, Holster still lives with his best friend and hasn’t actively tried to date anyone for at least the past 4 years. He’s totally fine with sharing a bed with his friend every night, wakes up spooning him more often than not, doesn’t mind snuggling him to get him up from a low point.There’s a lot going on between them, and they’ve always been really ridiculously close friends (even by Samwell’s standards, which are fairly close), even closer than some actual romantically involved couples. So… Maybe. A definite maybe on that front.

But he doesn’t want to do anything about it, not yet. That would be rushing into a situation where action may not even be warranted, or reciprocated. He doesn’t want to fuck up the best thing that’s ever happened in his life, so he waits. He doesn’t make any sudden proclamations during breakfast, or their morning run (their first run with Maggie, a resounding success that warranted multiple refillings of the water bowl when they returned home), or during lunch, finishing his readings while Adam does push-ups, still without a shirt on, on the bedroom floor because he’s disrespectful to everyone around him. 

His resolve lasts right up until about six thirty the night after the next. He lives with this weirdly sudden revelation, manages to deal with the fact that he’s sort of really madly in love with his best friend and sort of has been for years, sort of processes that whole thing for the two ish days. He’s never really been impulsive in his 24 years of life, even as a teen, he wasn’t reckless, he thought things through, planned them. Justin doesn’t want that to change now, doesn’t want to mess something this good up by thinking with his heart (the biology major in him tries to correct that turn of phrase, because your heart doesn’t do the thinking, it’s all your brain, but the rest of him just goes with the metaphor) after thinking logically through things for nearly his whole life. 

The only problem is, after a day of introspection, it makes sense. He can see an easy future with Holts, maybe adopting another big fluffy dog so Maggie has a friend, settling down in a good sized house somewhere after he retires from the league. Waking up by his side, not even considering moving away from his touch, and kissing him over breakfast. He thinks it through, like he always does, makes a mental list of pros and cons of the two of them ending up together, and the pros outweigh the cons by a wide margin (including: they’re already basically dating, they live together already, they work together so well in everything so there’s a very small chance of anything going wrong, after two days they’re already the best damn dog parents, and he’s fairly sure they’d be the power couple of the century. The main downside he can think of is the possibility of something going wrong and getting into a fight or a big split, as they’ve pretty much built their lives around each other and they’d have to rethink everything, but that is very, very unlikely). He looks at all the tiny bits of evidence toward Holts possibly loving him back, and there are… Way more than he thought.

At one point, he even goes so far as to imagine life with Holster after more like ten or twenty years, still in the possibility of a perfect world where they stay together. He imagines a medium house in the suburbs of New York, a nice fence and a xeriscaped front yard, maybe a mini rink in the back. Two dogs, maybe a cat, adopting a kid or two after a long enough time. It’s oddly reminiscent of his initial accidental ideation of middle aged Holts, but with his own self as a more prominent figure, showing pictures of their kids to anyone who listens for more than five minutes, gushing about his husband a bit too much. He definitely tried to stop that train of thought before it left the thought station, but it just kept going anyway, and he definitely really wants this outcome for his future. Woops.

So he thinks this through, he thinks about how this would be barely any different from how they are now, just their normal friendship with more kissing (and definitely other things, but he doesn’t want to get in that deep yet), and he thinks that could definitely happen. But he keeps it small, tries to keep the thought in the back of his mind, goes about his life with this weird lingering knowledge that he’s in love with his best friend, until tuesday. They stay in on Sunday, get in a surprisingly heated wrestling match over what they were going to watch on TV, ordered pizza for dinner (with mushrooms on half, because Holster is gross), and end up watching Troll Hunter on netflix, watching it sprawled on the living room floor with the pizza box between them and Maggie laying on the couch. It’s soft and domestic and good all around, and Justin comes perilously close to confessing his newly discovered feelings or just straight up kissing Holster multiple times through the night, dangerously so when they curl up together in bed around midnight. 

He lays with his head resting on Adam’s shoulder, his left arm wrapped loosely around his waist, legs tangled together. Holts fell asleep nearly half an hour before, his breaths deep and shallow, his heartbeat a steady rhythm calming him down. Justin curls a little closer and sighs, mumbling “stupid” at his own damn emotions and fluttering heartbeat before slipping back asleep.

He makes it through another day, on Monday Adam goes to practice as usual, Justin goes to his morning class and gets back around three. He sits and settles in his own emotions for two goddamn hours until Adam gets home, thinks about what he’s gonna do about all these feelings, tries to come up with some kind of solution for this dumb romance problem. He comes to the conclusion that he has to do something, he has to speak up to at least a third party, stop internalizing this stuff, if not telling Holster himself and hoping that he can take it from there. After two hours, he turns to Maggie for help, despite the fact that she is a dog who can’t really offer fully formed and well worded opinions.

“I think I’m in love with Adam,” He says to her, looking into her big brown eyes from where they’re both seated facing each other on the couch. The TV is on, but he muted it so he could think with more clarity. Maggie tilts her head to the side, looking at him. “Like, really, really in love with him.”

Maggie thumps her tail against the armrest of the chair, ears perking up excitedly, and Justin thinks if he could summarize his general feelings about this whole realization and all that, he would probably describe it with something along the lines of that motion.

“Should I tell him how I feel? I think that’s a good idea, but what if he doesn’t feel the same way, and I make everything supes awkward?” He continues, and Maggie scratches at her neck with her single back paw. He reaches out to her and scratches the other side that she can’t reach, ruffling the fur on her head as well, and she licks his hand. “Do you think that he feels the same way? Like, it’s really probable, but at the same time I don’t want to fuck this whole thing up, if he doesn’t love me like I love him.”

Maggie lets out a low whine, slumping her head back onto the seat of the couch. Her tail still steadily beats against the back of the chair, and she blinks up at him. Justin sighs and moves closer to her, running a hand through her long fur, working out any burrs that got caught there in the park that morning. He pats her head and slips his phone out of his pocket, swiping over to his contacts and selecting Lardo. A few months previously he had gone over to her apartment while Holts was on a roadie and she got a little bit wine drunk and told him that if he ever had anything he needed to talk about he could call her, putting a lot of emphasis on every single word of that proclamation. He hadn’t taken her up on that offer at all so far, but this seemed like the sort of thing that would be good to talk to her for advice about. She picks up on the third ring. 

“Hey, Lards, how’s it going?” He asks, trying to keep his tone strictly conversational and even for now.

“Good, I’m in the studio… Is everything okay?”

“What? Yeah, of course. Definitely nothing wrong.”

“Tell me what’s going on, dude. You know I’m here to support you and all that,” She responds, and Rans sighs. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but I’m here to help.”

“God, you’re like a damn psychic therapist sometimes, you know that, right?” A state away, Lardo laughs, and that’s a good thing to hear again. “Well, I actually did want to ask you for some advice, if that’s alright,”

“Shoot.”

“Okay, so, um. I haven’t told anyone this except for the dog, but. I think I’m in totally in love with Holster?”

“Nice. What do you need help with then?”

“Should I like… Talk to him? Tell him how I feel and all that, or should I keep it to myself for now? I don’t want to ruin our friendship or anything, I don’t think I’d know how to live without him, so like… Do you know if he loves me back or anything?” He asks, and runs a hand through Maggie’s fur in an attempt to reassure himself.

Lardo is very thankful to have the friends that she has, but at the same time, they can frequently be dumb as shit. Really, most of the time. She steps back from her work, eyeing it critically, and sits down in her office chair. “Well, there’s not really much I can do about this. I think you should just have a talk with him, I doubt that a confession like this could scare him away at this point. It’s your best bet, just talk to him and tell him how you feel, and take it from there,” She explains, kicking off the side of her work desk so her chair spins, the room sort of a blur of color due to the numerous paintings and malformed sculptures scattered around, propped against the walls and table. “Best case scenario, you two make out and get married and have a bunch of cute tiny jock babies who will all be taller than me by the time they’re twelve, and I’ll be their cool aunt Lardo and they’ll probably all think I’m a witch,”

“How much have you thought this through, dude?” Justin interrupts.

“Enough,” Lardo answers after a moment of silent thought, then continues. “Worst case scenario, he doesn’t love you like that, and you two stay the best fuckin’ friends that you are, and he still loves you, but just in a friend way. Also, off the record, I don’t think there’s much of a chance that he won’t at least consider it. He’s not just gonna drop you, dude.”

“Okay,” Justin replies, still sort of shocked that Lardo has thought out his life more than he even has, but she’ll sort of always be his manager, even though they aren’t even in the same state or on the same team anymore. “Okay, yeah. Thank you, I appreciate it. Um, how are things with you? How’s stuff with Shits going?” 

“Oh yeah, life’s good. I’ve got a show coming up in a few months, and these paintings are very disrespectfully not painting themselves. Shitty’s good, he sends his love I’m sure. He sort of hates that he has to wear a suit every damn day, but he somehow finds ways to evade professional ways of dressing even at work. I love the guy, but he continues to confuse the hell outta me, you feel?” Lardo responds, wedging her foot into the space by her desk to stop her chair spinning, and propping the other up on her desk. She presses her phone between her shoulder and her ear, remembering an idea from earlier and grabbing her notepad from the drawer to scribble it down. “Picked up a few week day shifts down at the art museum, needed some spending money for artsy shit and coffee aside from what Shitty pays for. How’re things for you, aside from the whole in love with your best friend front?”

“Oh, pretty good, med school is hellish as predicted. Did I tell you we got a dog?” He replied, glancing past his legs to where Maggie is sprawled out, asleep. “Her name is Maggie and I love her, but yeah, life’s good. A bit stressful, what with school stuff and Adam being gone all the damn time, but it’s good.”

“Oh? How’s he doing?” Lardo asks, taking a sip of her coffee. 

“He’s good, yeah. A little inconsiderate, because he keeps doing shirtless pushups while I’m trying to read and live my life in peace, but he’s good. I think the Islanders are gonna be having a good season this year, apparently they’ve been really upping their game during practices.”

“Oh my god, why is he like that?” 

“I literally ask myself that every day! It’s like he graduated and signed with a team and just decided to indefinitely forgo shirts, he’s terrible. Like, I can’t believe I love him this much, y’know?” Justin replies, nearly dropping his phone as he gestures. 

“God, I feel ya, dude. We’re like, comrades in perpetually shirtless love interests. At least Holtzy wears pants, right?” Lardo says.

“Most of the time,” Rans groans, dropping his head into his unoccupied left hand. “And hey now, he is by no means my love interest! Just best friend and potential future boyfriend, if I’m really lucky, not any kind of love interest, that phrasing feels gross for some reason.”

“Okay, definite future husband with prospective house in the suburbs and like, five kids. Not love interest. But yeah, at least he wears pants. Shits’ll go anywhere in various states of undress, fuck, I don’t need to tell you, you lived with him for three years too,” Lardo replies, and her rapid pen clicking is audible even over the phone.

“God, I miss Holts all the time, though,” Justin says, stretching out his leg over the back of the couch and sighing. “I’ve gotta leave way earlier than he does most mornings, and then he gets home about three hours later than me if he has practice. We get a bit of time to hang out on most nights and weekends, but it really sucks if he’s got a game that I can’t make it to, way worse for roadies. I dunno how Bits managed to do all that plus long distance for such a long time, and without even having people to bitch about it to with all that closet shit.” 

“Yeah, I feel you. Sometimes I need a break from Shitty, love the guy but he’s a bit much, but you two are like… Mad conjoined dude, I can’t imagine one of you without the other,” Lardo replies, pushing off the desk again to keep the chair spinning. “You’ve gotta tell him about your feelings shit, dude. Tell him how you feel, I’m like, 98% positive that he’ll take it well enough.”

“Gahh, it’s terrifying though,” Justin groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Like, yeah I love him, but I’m just so worried that I’m gonna fuck everything up! How’d you pull that off with Shits?” 

“That, my dude, is a story for another day. I’ve got a lunch appointment in ten so I’ve gotta dash, talk to you later? After you get your shit together and kiss your bro?”

“Okay, fine, yeah, I’ll see you later. Thanks for the advice, dude, you’re a gift.” Justin replies, and hits the end call button, rubs a hand over his eyes. He’s got no clue what he’s gonna do, how he’s gonna approach this in the slightest. But if Lardo says there’s a good chance of him getting a positive response, he trusts her enough to have a fair amount of confidence that this is going to work out. Even despite that, there’s this nagging feeling in his mind telling him that nothing’s gonna work out, that he’s going to ruin the best thing he’s ever had by trying greedily to make it into something more. He tries to shut down that part of him. He’s fucked. 

Justin manages to distract himself from his huge, six foot four problem for another half hour until Adam gets home. But then the source of his huge problem is right there, heading into the kitchen, throwing together dinner before flopping himself down on the couch next to Rans. He mumbles a greeting, muffled into Rans’ shoulder, and Justin doesn’t think anything through before he presses a soft kiss to the top of his head. So sue him, Adam’s hair is soft and right fucking there, and his hands are trapped under his bodyweight, so he can’t entirely run them through his hair. He fails to entirely regret this move when Holts makes a very quiet noise of assent, rumbling against his chest in a very good way. So at least he wasn’t cagey or weird about it, and he definitely didn’t sound opposed to it. That’s a definite step.

After a few minutes, Holster reluctantly pulls himself up and off the couch, looking sleepy and rumpled and sort of adorable if you’re into that whole giant fluffy haired best friend thing, which, incidentally, Rans sort of totally is. He stretches and goes back into the kitchen, pulling a pot off the stove and putting something he pulled from the cupboard in there, mixing it and tasting some before nodding and serving it into bowls. He brings the bowls back out into the living room, handing one to Justin before curling himself back up close by him on the couch. It’s macaroni and cheese, because goddamn does Adam know how to treat his best friend right, and Rans is really, really in love with him. 

When Justin finally goes to bed, having finished the studying he wanted to get done for the night and done the dishes that were left in the sink, Holts is already curled up in a sort of blanket cocoon there. He looks up from his phone when Rans comes in, Maggie trotting along at his heels, and he smiles at both of them sleepily before flopping back on the bed, blankets coming loose from around his legs when he moves. He pulls them back up over his arms while Rans gets comfortable next to him, sits up on one elbow and reaches over him to plug his phone in on their bedside table. Before settling back down next to him, he presses a soft kiss to his cheek and flops back down onto the bed, wrapping an arm around Ransom’s waist with a sigh. Justin stills for a moment before relaxing again, and thinks that he might have a chance after all.

“Sorry I did that, if I made stuff weird, it just kinda happened sorry-”

“Dude. ‘Sokay, go to sleep Holtzy.” Justin answers, trying to quell the racing of his heart, which only gets worse when Adam pulls him ever so slightly closer and makes a little snuffly noise right before he falls asleep, and he feels so stupid for having all these feelings all the time now. He thinks they might definitely need to talk about this in the morning, for his own well being, because he can’t go on like this- being so affectionate all the time but not knowing where Holts stands in this whole feelings deal.

In the morning, Justin wakes up to incredibly cold feet pressed against his leg, and a very warm all the rest of Holster wrapped around him. Their fingers are loosely laced together by his chest, and he yawns, contemplating how such a snuggly dude who’s practically a human space heater can have such fucking cold icicle feet. He can’t help but think just for a moment that it’s because his feet are so close to ice most days, but that just doesn’t make sense. He blames it on his sleepy delirious brain and the sort of intoxication he gets from just being around Holster at this point. Holts wakes up and squeezes his hand before extracting himself from their snugglepile to make breakfast, and Rans just lays in bed for a minute more, thinking about how incredibly into his best friend he is at this point.

They meet for lunch around noon on Tuesday because their breaks finally coincide with each other, they go to this new-ish stir fry place in the middle of town, sit across the table from one another. Justin orders for both of them, because they’re just so freaking compatible with each other that they know what they’ll order in any restaurant, even places they haven’t been to together. They chat through lunch, swap bites of their meals to see what they’d like to order in the future and part ways with a maybe overly-friendly hug outside of the door. 

He makes it until Tuesday evening, and he thinks that might be the biggest test of his fortitude he’s undergone in his entire fucking life.

But then he’s laying in bed with Holts, his laptop sitting on the mattress between them, an old episode of The Office playing. The volume is low enough that Rans nearly fell asleep a few times through their late evening marathon, due in part to the blanket cocoon he’s built around himself. Also partially due to the fact that Holster has his arm around his shoulders and is sort of curled into his side, knees pressed into the side of his thigh, simultaneously chilling him the fuck out out and putting him on edge, however the hell that works. Maggie’s somewhere off to the foot of the bed, making little snuffly noises in her sleep. Neither of them speak too frequently, just sitting in the quiet listening to the sound of each other’s breathing and Michael Scott saying something dumb. The episode is one of those Jim and Pam ones, where the main thing he can focus on is those two dancing around their feelings for each other, and he tries really hard not to draw any parallels between the characters and Holster and himself. He fails. After another episode of near silence between them, Adam groans, dropping his head down onto Rans’ shoulder.

“How do they not have their shit together,” He asks into the soft fabric of Ransom’s shirt, shifting over a bit closer. “Like for fuck’s sake, Jim and Pam have been in love with each other since what, the first fucking season? And she still tried to marry Roy instead! Twice! And they finally get their shit together third season, but then that goes to shit. Like, what the hell?” 

“It’s pretty whack, dude.” Rans replies, very much distracted by the fact that Holster is all pressed up against him, wrapped up in his arms, his knees pressing a warm line into his thigh, and he’s sort of calmed down by the contact. 

“Uhf, it just sucks how often people don’t just… Get their shit together, y’know?”

“I love you?” Justin says, and it comes out sort of like a question. Before Holts can reply and take it in a totally platonic way like how they usually say it, no big deal, he continues rapidly. “Like, I love love you, not just like super friendly, I mean like I’m fairly sure that I’m in love with you, and I think I have been for a while, all I can think about lately is having a future with you and living together and adopting another dog and maybe kids at some point way down the line and I’m getting ahead of myself, and-”

“Dude. Dude, are you serious right now? Because I think if you’re joking I have to leave forever in shame now, because I love you too, in a ‘growing old together and waking up spooning your beautiful ass every morning and still calling you bro when we’re in our seventies sitting on the porch of our house in Canada or whatever because I love you so fucking much’ way,” Adam interrupts, cutting off Justin’s rambling and sitting up, still close to him. He takes his hands in his own, and Rans wants to pinch himself because he’s not entirely convinced that this is real. “I think I’ve loved you ever since I first met you.”

“Oh god, I love you so much, holy shit, can I kiss you?” Rans adds, his eyes wide and his glance occasionally flickering down to Holster’s incredibly wide, toothy smile, then back up to meet his gaze. By way of a response Holster pulls his hand closer, up to place gentle soft kisses on each of his knuckles with an air of determination and sweetness, each press of his lips like a message, grounding him and reminding him that this is actually real, this is happening. It still feels fake, feels surreal to finally have some sort of closure on what he’s apparently wanted for years when he really thinks about it, to be able to just reach out and kiss Holster, that narrow empty space left in their friendship finally filled. Holts grabs his other hands and repeats that knuckle kissing pattern, like the affectionate loser that he is, and it brings him back into the present. He’s smiling, looking at Justin like the world revolves around him, like he’s the only thing that matters in the whole solar system or even galaxy, all his atoms and molecules , his eyes soft and his smile wide. 

“Oh you fucking sap, come here,” Ransom says, and he’s dragging Holster down that dreadful two inches between them to his height and pressing their lips together, kissing him hard as if this is the only opportunity he’ll ever have to do so, and he makes it count. It feels like he’s been doing this for ages, it feels like he should have kissed Holster days, months, even years ago, like he shouldn’t have waited all this time because nothing in his life has ever felt as right as this. His hands find their way from his sides to Holster’s back and finally up and woven into his hair. It’s soft, both his hair and the kiss, an ever so gentle tug of teeth against lips, and it starts out just the slightest bit awkward because of the angle until Holster shifts down a fraction of an inch with his legs tucked into that space between Rans’ legs, and then it isn’t awkward, it’s just good. 

When they finally break apart to breathe what feels like a lifetime later, Ransom brushes his knuckles over the curve of Holts’ cheek as he drops his head down to rest in the crook of his neck. He still feels floaty, distant in a way that makes it feel like this isn’t real, like he’s watching a movie of someone else’s life through their eyes rather than his own. It’s sort of weird thinking about seeing a movie of someone else kissing Holster though, so that’s really improbable. He reaches over Holster’s back to pinch his own arm at the same moment that Holster presses a warm, open mouthed kiss on his neck, and this is definitely real. Judging by the chill that runs down his spine at the feeling of Holster quite deliberately leaving a mark right below his ear, this is absolutely a real scenario that he’s currently in, and he sort of never wants it to end. 

Of course, because the world is absolutely terrible and everything is out to get him, Rans gets a call right at this moment. His phone rings with the telltale duck quacking ringtone he downloaded specifically for Lardo’s calls, and he sighs before pushing Holster just a bit to the side and grabbing his phone from where it ended up by the laptop. Holster pouts at him, because of course he does, and goes back to kissing his neck, because of course he does. Rans tries to keep his breathing level as he answers the call.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, keeping his tone neutral despite the fact that Holster is kissing the side of his jaw that is not occupied with his phone. 

“How much bedazzling is too much bedazzling? Shitty won’t give me a good answer other than ‘covered in rhinestones’ and I don’t want this covered in rhinestones if that would be bad.”

“Hmm, what are you even bedazzling? It depends on the object that the glitter is being directed at, really,” Rans replies, pulling the receiver of his phone away from his ear for a moment to press a short kiss to Holster’s lips, hoping that appeases him for at least a few seconds. 

“Adaptation of a Grecian statue, I’m tryin’ to have an attack on toxic masculinity in ancient cultures as it pertains to the arts and literature,” Lardo answers, eyeing the pile of sequins on her desk warily, pointedly not looking at the two foot tall statue in the corner. “It’s part of a whole thing about masculinity and gender shit through the ages in different cultures, it’s gonna be great. But like, I’m wary of these rhinestones because it might get out of hand, y’know?”

“Okay, yeah, for that I’d do tasteful amounts of glitter. Like, it’s hard to pull that off, but with rhinestones it can be a bit more controlled, so I’d maybe just put them on like, the parts of the body more associated with masculinity. One second, I’ll put you on speaker, Holtzy might have something to add,” He responds, despite Holster’s barely audible complaints about having to actually talk right now, because he knows he’ll do anything for Lardo.

“Yo, Holts, bedazzling a Greek statue, how much bedazzling?” Lardo asks, her voice carrying through the room over the speaker.

“I second what Rans said, moderate bedazzling in the parts that are all manly and all that. Like, the beefy bits.” Holster says, speaking more into Justin’s ear than anything else, such as the phone that he should be talking into. 

“Anything else you need?” Rans asks, and a breath hitches in his throat as Holster (who is sort of terrible) picks that whole kissing his jaw thing back up, much to his combined joy and dismay.

“Oh, don’t forget to tell me about that thing once you get around to it, Rans. I need the deets.”

“Okay, I’ll remember, don’t worry, dude. I’ll talk to you later?” Ransom replies, shooting Holster a irritated yet still affectionate look.

 

“Deets.” Lardo whispers into the receiver of the phone, and hangs up. Rans drops his phone beside him onto the bed and rolls over, pulling Holster closer and wrapping his arms around him. 

“So, uh. Are we. Um. Boyfriends? Now?” Adam asks the next morning, pulling back the blankets after leaving to brush his teeth, pressing a soft kiss to Justin’s lips. He tastes like mint toothpaste with a slight undertone of something that could probably be described as sleepy, and Rans loves it. 

“Yeah, if you want to be. I know I do, so,” Justin replies, and his voice is soft and scratchy from sleep and lack of use.

“Okay, I’d like that,” Adam answers as he laces their fingers together in the space between them, pressed against the soft fabric of the comforter.


End file.
